Free The Devil's Metal by Karina Halle

“That’s an
understatement.”
    “I do mean well,” Robbie continued, good
naturedly. He looked over at Graham. “And I think you need to mind
your manners over there. Oh wait, forget it. You don’t even have a
soul.”
    Clearly having enough of our company, Graham
got to his feet with a sigh and looked down at us. “We all lost our
souls when we joined this band. And despite what Mickey says, I
think you should quote me on that.”
    He pointed at me, his nicotine-stained
finger right in my face, then left the bus. Now it was just me, a
buzzed Chip on his fourth beer, a stoned Mickey, and Robbie.
    At least the atmosphere wasn’t so volatile.
I felt my body relax for the first time since stepping on the
bus.
    Or maybe it was the fact that the thing was
now hot boxed.
    Either way I took the opportunity to start
setting some ground rules.
    “Look, I’m sort of new at this going on the
road with a band thing,” I told them, trying to get my brain to
think straight. I figured being honest couldn’t hurt in this
situation, or at least with these guys. “So I am not sure what the
rules are about this sort of thing. I know I’m going to be
traveling with you for most of the tour. I’d like to interview
everyone separately at one point, and maybe do one together—”
    Robbie sucked in his breath at that. I
continued, my voice shaking with nerves.
    “—and I’m also just going to absorb the
atmosphere, the feeling of your shows, what life on the road is
like, what life in Hybrid is like.”
    “Do we get to approve what’s written?”
Mickey asked.
    I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“Well...no.”
    Mickey shook his head and put the joint out
on the table, adding to other burn marks. “I don’t know man, whose
idea was it again to have a journalist with us?”
    “Graham,” Robbie said. “But we all agreed.
Even Sage.”
    “Actually, I don’t think Sage ever did
agree,” Chip put in. He was now lying down on the couch, a beer
balancing on his belly. “In fact, I think I remember him saying,
‘You guys are all fucking idiots to think this wont fuck us
royally’ and then he threw a book at Graham.”
    Mickey let out a short and stupid laugh. “Oh
yeah. Fucking Graham.”
    Robbie turned to me. “We think Graham had
this idea that if he got this dipshit ass-kisser journalist from
Rolling Stone, that he’d come and focus just on him. You know, this
ass has got a wicked hard on for drummers or something.”
    I looked down at my hands. “Guess I kind of
ruined that.”
    “You didn’t ruin it, Rusty,” Chip said. “It
was Jacob’s call in the end, and I’m sure getting a writer who’s an
actual fan of the band—the whole band—won’t hurt us. Plus, like I
said, you’re hot.”
    I gave him a wry look even though he was
watching his beer can rise and fall.
    “Hot and smart,” Robbie added.
    “Dude, stop hitting on her,” Mickey
said.
    “Why? Jealous?”
    “If I were jealous, Noe would have both my
balls in her purse already.”
    I cleared my throat. “So, just to be clear,
I will be observing you all, but you can always ask for things to
be off the record.”
    “Can everything be off the record?” asked
Mickey.
    I couldn’t help but laugh. He really was
worried.
    “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m
just saying…”
    “She’s saying watch what you say and try to
keep your drug use hidden, you moron,” said Chip.
    “Drug use?” Jacob’s booming accent rolled
into the bus.
    We all turned to see him walk onto the bus
and up the stairs.
    He smiled down at me. “Thanks for coming to
get me, Dawn.”
    “I sent Noelle!” I said defensively. I felt
secretly delighted that we were behaving like chums already instead
of strangers, like arguing with Hybrid’s manager was something I
normally did as part of Dawn Emerson’s normal life.
    “You should have sent a cat, it would have
gotten to me faster,” he said, taking a seat beside Mickey with a
groan, like his bones were